Waterbury Winter, page 15
“Well, she’s eighty-two now.”
“Hard to imagine. Where to? Guess you want to go back to work, right?”
“No. I’m bushed. This business gets you down, sometimes. Let’s have a cup of coffee. My treat.”
“Uh . . . I have a lot of things to do. Another time,” he says.
He turns the ignition on, then twists his head to observe her. She’s hunched over, wiping a tear from her face.
“All right. Guess I have time for coffee,” he says. What harm could it do, Barnaby thinks, to return her kindness when she’s feeling sad? He never considers himself someone who could help a woman out of trouble—lately he’s always the one needing assistance—but he likes the idea of being gallant. “Where to?” he asks. The donut shop is hardly her style.
“There’s a nice little place around the corner. Rick’s Coffee House. They make good lattes.”
He doesn’t drink espresso, but says, “All right. Lead the way.”
They take seats by the window in the small café. Barnaby orders and pays for two lattes. He’s impressed by the thick foam at the top of the cup and slurps it down. Lisa reaches with a napkin and wipes the white bubbles from his face. Just as though I’m a child, he thinks. Offering a friendly shoulder for her to lean on might be more difficult than he guessed. He swallows loudly. “Nice drink,” he says.
“Yes. Comforting. Guess I need a little TLC.”
“Ah. Well, if you want to talk, I can listen.”
“It’s hard to explain. My work hasn’t gone so well lately. I’ve had some challenging cases. A different family, not Alma’s.”
Barnaby frowns. “I think I can understand that. You’re in the helping profession, right? And after a while that must get tiresome.”
“More than tiresome. Things happen. A child disappeared. Domestic violence. I didn’t do enough to intervene. I’m so ashamed. Don’t tell anyone.” Tears stream down her cheeks, and her narrow shoulders shudder.
Barnaby jerks back, too shocked for words. He reaches for her hand.
She raises her eyes. “So I’ve had enough. I’m getting out of this line of work.”
“It’s a lot of responsibility, I guess,” Barnaby says soberly. “So what are you going to do instead?”
“Don’t know yet. Maybe if I met a good man . . .”
Barnaby withdraws his hand, uncertain what to say. Does she mean me? He can’t tell her he’s interested in Julia, not her. And he’s at a loss to explain to himself how he, a recovering drunk, living a reclusive life for years and preferring his parrot’s companionship to others, is suddenly, unbelievably, of interest to not one, but two women.
He rubs his chin. “They’re expecting sleet. When winter’s over, I’m getting out of here. Tired of the Waterbury winters,” he says gently.
She drains her cup. “Well, I guess we’d best get going,” she says, rising and wiping her eyes. “Thanks for the coffee.”
He watches her while she slowly draws her arms into her coat. “Please allow me to drive you home,” he says.
They’re silent in the car, and as she waves good-bye at the gate, he feels his eyes soften with sympathy.
CHAPTER 24
After delivering Alma home and arranging with Elsa to meet the following day, Julia returns to the office. It’s only three o’clock, but she’s exhausted. She switches the radio to a classical music station and makes herself a cup of tea using hot water from the coffee machine. She wishes Lisa had not gone with her to find Alma. Lisa will eventually learn about her relationship with Barnaby if things progress further. And she’s not sure about that, especially since she saw Barnaby and Lisa leaving the hardware store together. What a muddle.
Margaret appears at her door. “Got a minute?”
“Sure. Just got back from finding Alma Hawkins, who went missing this morning.”
“Oh, dear. How’s the case going?”
“Well enough. It’s now more urgent that we find a suitable home for Alma, one where she can have more supervision. Speaking of that, I thought you planned to tell Lisa she’s off the case.”
“I haven’t talked to her about that yet, but I will. She’s fragile, and I don’t want to upset her. Do you want her back to help?”
“She’s never actually left, but I need to manage this by myself. Wires are getting crossed, and the family doesn’t like it.”
“That’s what I wanted to know. Thanks.”
Julia spends the next hour making appointments to see memory care facilities with Elsa. She’s irritated with Margaret. Telling Lisa she’s off the case would make Julia’s job easier and might help Lisa make difficult decisions about the future. And if she’s going through an emotional crisis, Lisa needs all the help she can get. Julia considers talking more to Margaret about Lisa’s disturbed emotional state, but decides to wait. She doesn’t want to damage her friend’s professional reputation without cause. It’s all so confusing.
At home, Julia draws a hot bath. She’s too tired to eat and wants an early night. The phone interrupts her plan.
“Hi, Julia. Nancy here. I want to talk to you about our party. Do you have a venue yet?
“Oh, the party. It completely slipped my mind. The birthday, too, for that matter.”
“It’s next week, January twenty-sixth, right?”
“Yeah. Forty. Let’s forget the celebration.”
“No way. I thought you were up for this. What’s changed?”
“Things have gotten complicated. I don’t want a party, and I can’t possibly plan one in a week. People need more time to get things on their calendar. Let’s go out to dinner, the two of us, or to a movie.”
“You sound down. Let’s not make firm plans now. Are things okay with your new boyfriend?”
“Not my boyfriend. Not yet, anyway. We’ve only had one date.”
“How did it go?”
“Fantastic. Look, I’ve had a hard day. Let me rethink this.”
“Okay. Talk to you soon.”
Julia collapses on her bed. She speculates how things went between Lisa and Barnaby. They left together. Lisa didn’t return to work, and Barnaby didn’t call as Julia hoped. She expected by this time in her life she would have sorted out problems like boyfriends that seemed insurmountable when she was younger. But here she is, almost forty, still trying to figure things out. She needs to get a grip and grow up.
CHAPTER 25
“Morning, Barnaby,” Sal greets him. “Quite a drama yesterday, with the police and all. I take it the old lady got home okay. Who was she, anyway?”
“My family’s house cleaner many years ago. I let her have one of my paintings.”
“So yer painting again?”
“Yes.”
“I hope that doesn’t mean yer going to quit the job. I’d sure miss ya.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be a while before I have a body of work. It’s hard to make a living as an artist. Say, Sal, are you interested in selling any of those brass buttons of yours? I know someone who might buy some.”
“Sure. Have the person stop by. I’d appreciate the extra income.”
During his morning break Barnaby calls Julia at work. “Sorry I didn’t call sooner. Things have been busy. I was happy to see you yesterday. Did Alma get home safely?”
“Yes, thanks,” she replies softly.
A little too softly, or is he imagining that? “I’d like to know if you’re free to see me this weekend.” He hears her inhale and waits anxiously for her answer.
“Yes, I am,” she says at last.
“Great! Pick you up at six on Saturday for dinner.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d call. I look forward to it.”
He smiles to himself. Where shall he take her this time? He must give it careful thought. He has time to make one more call, to Sylvester. After the usual pleasantries, Barnaby says, “I understand you’ve sold some of my paintings already.”
“Yeah. Three. Not bad, for an unknown artist.”
“Would you mind telling me how much you asked for them?”
“Fifteen hundred each for the two larger ones. A thousand bucks for the small piece.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Barnaby says.
“Oh, really? Who told you something different? Well, perhaps I forgot the numbers. I can check my records. Any others you want to sell?”
“Not for that price. I might consider selling them at your gallery on a commission basis, though.”
“Well, send me some images online, and I’ll make you a deal.”
“I might do that. Thanks,” Barnaby says.
His so-called friend isn’t honest. Damn him. Barnaby will have to consider another venue for selling his work. Thanks to Lisa, he knows the truth about Sly’s profits. But is she telling the truth? It’s possible she got the information wrong. He shouldn’t rely on Sly for sales, anyway. He can send his work out to other dealers on a computer. It’s time to buy one.
The week passes quickly, and on Saturday evening he knocks on Julia’s door.
“Where are we going?” she asks as she climbs into the car.
“We’ll have a quick bite to eat and then go to see Cats at the Palace Theater. We have tickets. Does that sound good?”
“How exciting!” she says. “I’d love to see that show. It’s set to T. S. Eliot’s poems about cats. I have one, you know. Molière.”
“It’s good to have a pet. I have a parrot, Popsicle.”
“I don’t know much about birds. Does yours talk?”
“Does she ever! You must meet her sometime.”
“I’d like to. But speaking of the Palace, I haven’t gone there since it reopened three years ago. I heard Tony Bennett. Do you know he sang there at the last performance before it closed in 1987 and again when it reopened four years ago? Almost puts Waterbury on the map, doesn’t it?”
“For me, Waterbury has always been on the map. I just wish it wasn’t so cold.”
“The winters are long, I agree.”
“Well, how did your week go? Did you sort things out with Alma?”
“I did. We found a good place for her to live. Her daughter can’t manage her anymore.”
“You do good work,” Barnaby says. I saw how beautifully you handled Alma at the store.”
“Thank you,” she says.
The restaurant is small and cozy with red and white checkered tablecloths. It’s full of people like themselves, most likely theater-goers having dinner before the show. They examine the menu and choose lasagna.
“You look great,” he says. “Green’s a wonderful color for you, though I associate you with red. You wore a red dress when we met at the New Year’s party.”
She smiles. “Green’s my favorite, actually.”
Green like Popsicle, he thinks. And the color of Anna’s eyes.
Julia says, “What’s your color?”
“Blue. There are so many shades of it: cerulean, Prussian, cobalt, ultramarine.”
“Of course, you like blue. The color of sky, and dreams,” she says.
“Speaking of dreams, tell me one of yours.”
She props her elbow on the table and rests her head on her hand and meets his gaze. “Marriage, someday.”
He sits back, at a loss for words. His chest tightens, and his head spins. Both odd sensations. Is marriage all these women want?
“Now I’ve scared you. Sorry,” she says. “How about you? What’s your dream?”
“I want to move to California. Leave all this chaos behind and drive there.”
Her eyes widen. “You mean, go away from here, for good?”
“Yes. It’s been my dream for years. I’ve always wanted to go where life is gentler, where there are palm trees, long beaches, soft winds. And no Waterbury winters.”
“Oh,” she says, dropping her eyes.
He can see she’s not happy with his scheme and considers telling her that in his recent dreams she is part of the plan, too, that he wants her beside him on the drive out West. But it’s too soon, and he shouldn’t have spoken so frankly. And she wants marriage . . . that’s too soon as well.
The lasagna arrives. It’s hard to talk against the noise in the small room and, preoccupied with their thoughts, they stop trying. On the way out, he puts his arm around her shoulders as they stroll down the street to the theater.
The production is lively, and they giggle at the witty lyrics. When the aging cat woman sings “Memories,” Barnaby swallows a lump in his throat and steals a glance at Julia. A tear trickles down her cheek. They remain in their seats as the audience exits the rows.
“What is it about memories?” Julia asks, wiping her eyes. “They bring nostalgia and yearning. Why can’t we appreciate the present with the same intensity of feeling?”
Barnaby gazes toward the stage, now closed from full view by velvet curtains. “Good question. Maybe because we can view the past with a clearer perspective, like a painting that recedes into the distance. But it’s not good to get lost in that distance.” He places his hand on hers. “I’m enjoying this moment, even though that performance brought back powerful reactions.”
“Me, too.” He feels the warmth in her voice before she goes on, “You know, there’s nothing like a live stage production to heighten reality. I’ve never felt so alive as when I’m acting. Do you remember when I forgot my lines in South Pacific?”
He laughs. “Yes. The prompter from behind the curtains spoke for you, and her tone was at least two octaves lower than yours. I forgot my lines once, too. It didn’t matter. We kept going.”
“Yeah. Faking it is part of the business. The show must go on.”
“Easier on stage, isn’t it?” he says.
As they rise to leave, she turns as if to reply, but remains silent.
“What?” he asks, looking at her, but she just shakes her head.
“Nothing.”
“It’s still early. Would you like to go somewhere for a drink?”
She hesitates. “Why not? If you’re sure.”
Soon they’re sitting at the counter at O’Malley’s.
“Hey there, Barnaby. I see you have company tonight,” Sean says.
“Yes. This is Julia.”
“We’ve met, I believe,” she says. “Hello, Sean.”
He gives her a twisted grin. “Always pleased to see old customers. What’ll you have, Miss Julia?”
“Not sure yet,” she says, and looks at Barnaby. “What are you drinking?”
“A Coke for me. If you want something stronger, go ahead.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Have a glass of wine.”
“All right. Chardonnay. It’s my fortieth birthday next week, and there’s no reason I can’t celebrate early.”
“Absolutely,” Barnaby says again.
The place is crowded, and Barnaby speaks into her ear so she can hear him. He loves the scent of her hair, like coconuts, the way it smelled when they danced together on New Year’s Eve. She makes him want to celebrate.
Sean sets two glasses down in front of them.
“To you,” Barnaby says, meeting her eyes as she turns toward him.
“And you, too,”
They clink glasses. The wine gives Julia’s cheeks a pink glow. She shifts in her seat. “How is Lisa?” she asks.
“Okay, as far as I know. Why do you ask?”
“As you’re aware, she’s had some problems lately. I could tell Alma’s reaction to her offer of help at the car bothered her.”
“Yes. She was upset about that.”
“Oh. How do you know? Have you talked to her? Or seen her again?”
“Not since we found Alma on Tuesday.” He takes her chin in his hand and turns her face toward him. “I’m not interested in Lisa, if that’s what you’re thinking. She’s a friend, that’s all.”
Julia’s blush deepens. “I don’t mean to pry. The last few weeks have been hard for her. Our boss recently let her know she’s no longer on the Hawkins case. I heard she’s considering changing careers.”
“She told me. It must be challenging, facing other people’s serious problems every day.”
“Yes. She’s burned out. Do you know anything more?”
He starts to reply, then stops. Lisa had asked him not to tell.
A man with spiky hair sits down heavily on the stool next to Julia.
“The usual, Sean,” he says. Then his eyes settle on Julia. “Hey,” he says. “Haven’t seen you here in a while. How’s it going?”
“Fine,” she says.
“Hey,” he says again, “you still seeing Mike?”
“No. This is my friend Barnaby.”
The man reaches across her to shake hands. “Horace Holmes. This your girlfriend? Better watch out for her. She’s a hottie. You should see her at the pool table. She’s a regular shark.” He throws back his head and guffaws, displaying a chipped front tooth.
“Thanks for the warning,” Barnaby says. Turning to Julia he says, “I didn’t know you played pool.”
“I don’t, now.”
Charley Carson stops by. “Well, look who’s here. Lady Pool Shark herself. Up for a challenge? Sharpen your teeth, lady.”
“Let’s go,” she whispers to Barnaby. “I don’t like the way the conversation is going, if you get what I mean.”
“Okay.” He leaves some money on the counter and helps her on with her coat.
“Nice meeting you, Barnaby. Catch you later,” Horace calls as they leave.
“What was all that about?” Barnaby asks as they drive away.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Horace Holmes is not a friend.”
“He isn’t?” Barnaby says. “I guess there’s a lot we don’t know about each other. We’ll have to take things slowly.”
She nods her assent and sits with her head resting against the window until the car stops outside her condo. Barnaby escorts her to the door.
“I like you a lot. You know that.” He puts his arms around her. She pulls away from him, avoids his kiss, and fumbles in her purse for a key.
“Thank you for the show and dinner,” she says and shoves her key in the lock.
After she goes inside, Barnaby stands for a few minutes staring at the closed door. What went wrong? It may have been a mistake to go to O’Malley’s, but he wanted to introduce her to part of his life, a place where he’s comfortable. Too late he remembers that Sean had told him about Julia’s visits there with a man who he’d had to throw out. Hopes sinking, he revisits his earlier insight: they don’t know each other well, she’s secretive, but so is he about his past wrongdoings. They do need to take things slowly. She mentioned marriage as a goal, too; he’s not at all sure about that, either.
